Back in Good Ole South Park
by Franky G Fan
Summary: Cartman, age 30, is still a lazy fat-ass living in his mother's home, reminiscing of Wendy and his old 'friends' when he's greeted by an unexpected visitor. Wendy/Cartman, somewhat, and Cartman/Kyle somewhat. Strong language.
1. Chapter 1

It definitely wasn't an expected kiss. I mean, c'mon, that bitch just stood up, walked over to me, grabbed my damned jacket, and kissed me. Kissed me on the _fucking lips. _I mean, damn, I admit it was pretty hot, but…come on! I don't think that was the most appropriate time to kiss me. But, hey, as long as it proved to Stan that the black-haired chick in my memory preferred me, then, well, I'm pretty fucking fine by it. And it was-DAMN. Long. Fucking long. About ten seconds. Seriously. I counted. Not that I'd ever admit it. But (fuck it) twenty-five years later, I'm still a spoiled fat-ass, laying on my mom's couch, listening to her fuck whomever guy she had in bed at the moment.

Kitty had gone and died so I had no company. I'd been watching TV, flipping through the channels, until I'd spotted this boring ass debate competition thing. And that was what made the memory pop up into my head in the first place. And I couldn't help but remember what thoughts had occurred to me at the moment, and now, I was looking back on it, grinning like an idiot to myself, thinking about how if that had happened now, I might've ended up in bed with that mighty fine piece of ass (as much as I had detested her, I had to admit, she'd been pretty banging). Well, actually, even at that stage in my life, I'd been pretty much willing to hump anything that moved.

Well, sort of. That Snooki resembling BEAST that had sexually attacked me and then me yelling at my mom for her to fuck me were the only two exceptions. I wasn't too much into that family incest kinda thing.

Back to her. Oh yeah. Wendy. That was her name. It had been so long since I'd thought about her. Actually, it had been almost quite literally forever. Not that that bitch had any reason to cross my mind, no, not at all. I'd been too busy dealing with life. AKA; smoking dope, losing jobs, moving back to my mom's place, and becoming her 'prostitutional manager,' though I was pretty fucking sure the whore made that name up to make me 'happy,' if that were ever possible.

Actually, believe it or not, (even though I didn't believe in that sappy, spiritual shit) I was pretty content with what was called my life. That little, rotten cap I'd worn as a kid? I still had that. Barely fit on my huge ass head anymore.

In fact, now that I even was thinking about my cap, my thoughts had drawn to the others. Kyle, and Kenny, and Stan. Good lord, did I hate Kyle's fucking faggot-guts. His Jewish-ness. The fag. But after awhile, hey, I'd gotten used to hanging with the Jew and the others. I was perversely curious to what had happened to them.

Kenny, I was pretty fucking sure had moved on. Despite the fact that every time he got brutally murdered he'd come back to life, I was sure that now he was an adult, some God with a fucking twisted sense of humor said, 'Oh, to hell with it, let's just bring that damn bastard up here.' Or down to Hell. I wouldn't know.

Stan, I frankly didn't give a fuck about. He could be some transgender hooker partying in the nearest strip club or maybe even the dude fucking my mom at the moment. I couldn't care less. But, even knowing him for as long as I did, I'd rather assume he was some good Samaritan living out in the parking lot of a shitty, run-down Walmart. Better than the latter fates I assumed he'd been stuck with.

And now for Kyle. Oh, good God, Kyle. It had been a good fifteen years since I'd last called him a gay Jew, and that was when we'd been graduating high school. Fuck, man. I couldn't even believe it'd been so long. Maybe since I was doped up off my ass, I couldn't really focus on one thing, but now my mind seemed to be stuck on Kyle. That fucking gay Jewish fag. I bet he was some kind of preacher of some sort, praying in a soft voice, hands clasped together, down on his knees, for his bitchy mother who'd maybe died and gone to Hell, if we were all lucky enough.

Ah, who gives a damn about the Jew? I certainly didn't.

I had to backtrack to my original thought. Wendy. Ah, yes. The little ho.

I don't even know what really lead me to reminiscing. Maybe some kind of perverse shame that, while I was sitting my lazy ass on the couch smoking a joint, my ex-friends (and maybe ex-girlfriend, not 100 percent sure) were out there doing something with their lives.

Nah, fuck that. Whatever they were doing, I didn't care about them.

I took a deep inhale of my joint. Life was good, or at least for me. I was high, my eighty-year old mom (okay, maybe I may be exaggerating about her age) was busy fucking some male prostitute, and I had all the beer I could want.

Speaking of, I was thirsty from all the fucking reminiscing. I took a swig, belched, and scratched the irritating itch on my stomach.

And then came the doorbell; loud, obnoxious, and pealing.

"MOM! DOORBELL!" I yelled.

No sound other than bed springs screaming and moaning.

I sighed. Fucking slut. "MOM! GET THE FUCKING DOOR!"

The doorbell rang again, multiple times, and no response from my mom.

Fuck. Whoever was at my door, I was gonna punch their lights out for making me get up.

I stood up, wobbled on my feet, and padded to the door, whipping it open, breathing smoke and the scent of marijuana into the person standing at my door's face.

"What do you want?" I snapped peevishly.

And, whaddya know, that fucking gay Jew was standin' in my doorway! He had obviously morphed from that gay little fag, not that I would admit it aloud. He'd shed the crappy green hat and the tight clothes and instead had adopted baggy, dark gray jeans, a black denim jacket, and a white under-shirt. His hands were stuffed into his pockets. His chin was rough-looking with stubble, a clear sign he hadn't shaved in the past few days. His hair had darkened and lengthened until it dipped down to his shoulders. He was wearing a smile that turned tight-lipped when he spotted me.

"Cartman, long time no see." He greeted with a chill, nonchalant attitude.

I stared at him through narrowed eyes, unsure what to think. I merely settled with the common phrase, "Fuck off, Jew boy."

Kyle grinned widely, something I wasn't used to, seeing as he used to get all uptight about me making fun of his religion. "I'd say the same to you, fatass," was his retort. "You haven't changed a bit. Except for the B.O. That's pretty rank, dude. When have you last showered?"

I ignored the question and bent down to pick up my joint again, scowling once it was deemed useless and tossing it aside. "What's it to you?"

Kyle shrugged. "It's been forever since I came back to South Park. I was in Vegas, you know, gambling, all that shit, for most of these years, and wasted a lot of my money." He chuckled bitterly. "But somehow I had enough to hitch a ride on a plane and, ta-da, here I am, back in good ol' South Park."

I wasn't really interested in what he was doing back in Colorado as to what he was doing standing on _my _(rather, my mom's) doorstep. "Don't give a damn. What are you doing here?" I pointed at the mat he was standing on, indicating my doorstep.

Kyle shrugged again. "I was just calling Stan when he told me he heard you hadn't moved since the day we graduated South Park High."

"Ain't that the truth," I snorted, half to myself, but quickly returned my attention back to Kyle. "Lovely reunion and all, but I gotta go. Have fun back in 'good ol' South Park', Jew boy," I mocked, turning to close the door, but his hand flew out and slammed onto the doorjamb, preventing me from closing it. I glared at him. "I swear to God, if you don't move within five seconds, I'm gonna break your fucking fingers."

Kyle rolled his eyes but shoved the door open even wider, peering around my girth and into the house. His eyebrows rose incredulously. "Dude, this place is a fucking mess."

"You don't think I don't know that? It's mostly my mom's fucking used condoms," I aimed a kick at one on the floor and sent it flying. It smacked against the TV screen and drooped back onto the ground. Kyle watched it with morbid interest.

"Your mom still up to her antics?"

"Wow, way to use the extended vocabulary there, Kyle. Antics. Very mature. In other words, yes, she's still being a filthy skank and whoring herself out to whoever'd wanna bang that ugly piece of ass."

"Why don't we talk about it for a bit?" Kyle grinned.

I stared at him as if he were crazy. "In here? You're out of your fucking mind, dude."

Kyle laughed and shook his head. "No, there's a bar down the street." Before I could even protest, he shoved me into my own house. "Get dressed properly and let's go, fat-ass. Gotta lot of catchin' up to do."


	2. A Unwanted Reunion

**Another chapter. Thanks for the reviews! I honestly realized how jumbled the first chapter was, but oh well, lol. Style and eventual Candy comin' up. Maybe some Kyman. **

**I don't own SP. Trey Parker and Matt Stone do.**

Fuckin' Jewfag! Who is he to tell me what I can and cannot do? Dumb Jew. And yet, despite my thoughts, I was marching upstairs, sliding out of my pajamas and into a pair of jeans and a stained, dark red Terrance and Phillip shirt (yeah, they made the shirts in adult sizes now which I found fucking awesome). I paused by my mom's door. Yup, I definitely could hear the moans. "Mom I'm going out," I bellowed, not bothering to stay and wonder if she'd heard me or not but merely trotting down the stairs and nabbing a few hundred dollar bills from my whore mom's purse.

I opened the door and Kyle was still standing there, hands in his pockets, looking deep in thought. "Lost the Jewfro I see." I commented snidely, lips curling up into a sneer, not yet unbothered by my 'peaceful relaxation' being disturbed.

"Yeah," laughed Kyle. "Took about two tons of hair gel but I finally managed it."

"Dude, fuck, what the hell is wrong with you?" We were walking down the street now. "Normally when I call you a Jewfag, you get all pissy and PMS-sy."

Kyle suddenly grinned. "Let's just say I don't get sand in my vagina too easily anymore."

I was astonished by his sudden change in attitude. I wasn't used to him being so calm. "You're a hippie now, man," I muttered, disgruntled, but paused to swing open the bar door and enter it, not bothering to hold the door open for Kyle.

The place was small, crowded, and stank of cigarette smoke and beer breath. My kind of place. I shuffled to the bar and ordered my usual while Kyle simply got a glass of water. We moved to one of the only available booths, at the far end of the bar, and sat down.

"No beer? Yeah, you're definitely a hippie." I guzzled down my drink, sighing as the liquid settled in my stomach.

Kyle rolled his eyes, running a finger over the rim of the cup. "I guess so." His voice was sarcastic. "But, anyways, that's beside the point. What've you been up to?"

I glared at him. "Why the fuck are you interested?" I retorted sharply.

He shrugged. "Just catching up with an old friend." I stifled my bitter laugh. Old friend my ass!

"You've seen my house," I snapped. "That's pretty much a summary of what I've been doin'."

"So, let me get this straight, you've been doing things involving crumpled up beer cans, a litter box, and a whole floor full of used condoms?" Damn that smart-ass and his fucking smug smirk.

"Ah who gives a shit." I waved a hand dismissively and went back to my drink.

"Don't you want to know how the others are doing?"

"Sure." My voice was disinterested.

"Stan moved to Connecticut, Kenny's dead, Butters is working at a gay bar somewhere, Tweek is in an asylum, Bebe's a hooker, and Wendy, well, I'm not too sure about her."

I couldn't help but snort. "And Clyde and Craig?" Not that I was interested.

"Calvin Klein model and in jail for arson."

This time I couldn't resist choking on my beer. "Clyde's a Calvin Klein model? Bebe's a hooker? Craig's in jail? Oh god this is too good." I gave a few more rough chuckles.

Kyle rolled his eyes. "I was sure you'd get a kick out of that," again, his voice was sarcastic.

"Token?"

"Millionaire."

"Naturally. I knew the nigger was gonna turn out better than any of us," I lied.

Kyle glanced at me through skeptical eyes. "Sure you di-" He froze and glanced up. "Speak of the devil. How the hell did this happen?"

I followed his gaze. "What?" I couldn't see anything through the throng of people dancing and grinding and whatnot. "What the hell is it?" I was getting impatient.

"It's Wendy."

No fucking way. I didn't believe him. "Douchebag. I can't see her anywhere." Not that I was actually making an attempt to look for the ho.

"Right there!" Kyle lifted a finger and jabbed it at the bar counter.

And, yup, sitting right there in plain view was the hippie ho Wendy Testaburger. She looked extremely out of place. She was sitting with her hands folded, lips pursed, and eyes darting around. Her ebony hair was pulled into a sloppy ponytail and her face had chiseled out to where it was, not bony, but slender. Her body was the same. Wiry and slender. She was wearing a purple skirt and matching business top with black flat-top shoes.

What a surprise.

"Wendy? What the hell is she doing here?"

Kyle shrugged. "I have no idea. I'm gonna go talk to her." He stood up and vanished among the crowd without another word.

God damn that Jew! I would have been content to not even have seen the hippie but now he was actually attempting to drag her over to our table.

I glanced around and spotted Kyle tapping on Wendy's shoulder. Her face remained emotionless until Kyle explained who he was and her eyes lit up with recognition. He jabbed his thumb in my direction and I turned my body away, facing the window, hoping with all my might Wendy (or Wendeh as I called her) wouldn't notice me.

I'd gone maybe fifteen or so years without seeing her. I was pretty damn sure I'd be happy going for another.

"Cartman?"

Oh goddamnit. My luck just never seems to hold.

I turned reluctantly and was face-to-face with Wendy-motherfucking-Testaburger.


End file.
